Pages

October 10, 2011

just like that.

It's like the gravel under the tire, through open window you hear the car pull up and turn around. A sound like it's in the room right next to you, closer than it really is.

Like in the car wash, when the machine rolls by and you feel like the car is moving, but it's not. It's standing still.

And you think outside of yourself, that being surrounded by people moving forward and following their dreams might make it appear that you are moving right along with them. But that's an illusion. And you aren't. You are still. What are you going to do about that?

You find yourself in the waiting room. In between where you've been and where you need to be. And you with your history and your beliefs are taking your grandmother for a flu shot. That is love.

You couldn't wait for bedtime, and all that you could get done once they were asleep and then there you are, pulling your daughter up into your arms, nothing in the world more important or desired or special than that moment and you know it, you own it, and you miss it before you even let go.

You are a talented writer. I find myself getting wrapped up in what I will do when they are asleep. But I forget what I should be doing while they are AWAKE. I've been trying to find the balance between making their dreams come true and making mine come true. The lines are blurry.